


there is nothing you can do that i have not already done to myself.

by orphan_account



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Other, r.i.p tord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:20:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27482617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: wow song lyrics as a title how original anyways you bet your fucking ass my first fic on here is going to be tord angst bullshit.
Kudos: 6





	there is nothing you can do that i have not already done to myself.

**Author's Note:**

> i'll add to this later, i wrote half of this and then brain went brrr no worky . i had Ideas. anyways um. 😋 we love digging into a problematic bitch

it's funny- as a kid, this was all he ever wanted.

and even his few first years as an adult. to change the world from every evil, sickening thing that ruled; to help others in need and fight for what was right.

to be fair, tord still wanted it. however, now that he was actually working towards it, the reality of everything was all too real and more gruesome than he'd originally imagined.

he started an army, at the cost of leaving his friends, sure, but he could watch from a distance and make sure they were okay. it would be worth it, in the end.

that's what tord rationalized.

but dear _fuck_ , was he so god damn wrong. in his morally just path, he destroyed everything that mattered to him in the first place.

and now he was looking out on the wreckage of the house he'd lived in only a few years prior, for probably the sixth time that week.

remains of his robot had already been cleaned up, though the area of dead, burnt grass was still struggling to grow back. 

tord shouldn't have survived it. he really shouldn't have. it didn't make any sense but he did, an arm gone and half of his body torn to fucking shreds.

he didn't feel sorry for himself, per say. it was more of burning anger for what he'd done in a blur of panic and pressure. the injuries were the least of what he deserved.

tom should have aimed a little higher.

he sighed, shifting so he could cross his legs on the soft, and slightly damp ground under him. it'd rained a few hours ago. 

as the sun set, tord put his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. everytime he came back here, his heart would rush and get that weird stabbing feeling it often did when he was angry. 

not only had he crushed what fragile string left of his friendships there was, but tord had also let his army down. he'd promised them a mecha, he promised them that it would lead into the production of more weaponry that would aid them in the fight. 

and he came back on a stretcher, and empty handed.

* * *

he arrived back at the base about forty minutes later, paul and pat at his heels shouting something about not taking his medication and not needing to be driving with his prosthetic still being a prototype, but it was all static to his ears.

tord appreciated it, he really did- but with the lump in his throat, and the painfully numb feeling radiating through him, he couldn't gather up the energy to find an excuse, or reply in general.

he felt lightheaded, on top of everything. 

his head was pounding, and his vision seemed to dance.

how was he going to be a leader of a world changing revolution like this? how would people look up to him and follow if tord couldn't even manage to take his god damn pain medication?

were they noticing?

surely, after all, tord did have quite the reputation. he was burning passion embodied, anger and reckless determination balled up, always running around doing /something./ whether it be helping recruits, meetings, missions, paperwork.. tord had always been a loud presence in the base. he was very in tune with all of his soldiers, and the different stations.

but now he was either locked up in his office or in the medical room.

the past month had been pretty quiet on the outside. they had won over the netherlands, and half of england now. he remembers vaguely of pat saying something about telling everyone that they needed to lay low for a couple weeks, with how high up they had been on the radar. 

tord supposed it was a good coverup for his recovery. 

but it was still infuriating. he hated not being able to do anything, not being able to be out there on the field yelling at the new trainees and going out to scare the shit out of some government officials.

he hated being bed ridden.

which is why tord kept sneaking out, he needed air. he needed to move.

with a sigh, he rid himself of his coat, shutting the door to his room and throwing himself down onto the soft mattress below. 

he didn't feel like taking off the rest of his clothes. it's not like sleeping in pants was new to him. 

fuck, he still needed to take his sleep pills.

with a groan, tord rolled over to the side of his bed, arm reaching out lazily and fumbling to grab the bottle at the edge of his night stand, and a drink.

after he took it, swallowed it down with the lukewarm ( gross ) water, he rolled over. his one eye slowly, ever so slowly fluttering shut and the void of unconsciousness taking him with it.


End file.
